Finger tips reach for cherry blossoms,
Withered petals paint us like snow,


Still,

Mourning memories of many nothing's,


Crushed insects dry,


embedded into my lovers skin, search through the dead,

I cannot find the corpse your eyes belong to, soon maybe, too many,


My death smells of apple and cadavers,

Dressed in mortician dahlias,

Cemetery ballroom, slow dancing in a morgue,


Godless, sanguine, colorless,
© Devil in drag